


Feverish

by CoyoteGhost



Series: Devotion [9]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A Little Cuddling, And a little bit of love, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, Jesse is a very good boy, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Hatred, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts, bless that child, mild panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 12:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17447303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoyoteGhost/pseuds/CoyoteGhost
Summary: Even if the world around him started to crumble, Jesse refused to go back to Gabriel. Well, at least that’s what he told himself. So why did it always end up like this? Why was it that all roads led back to Gabriel?OrIn a moment of broken, desperate panic, Jesse finds himself in a place where he swore he’d never go again.





	Feverish

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, I apologize in advance for Jesse’s mental anguish
> 
> ***IMPORTANT***
> 
> As stated in the tags, this kinda deals with some heavy stuff. I know some people don’t read the tags (PLEASE DO FRIEND), so I just decided to put a warning here
> 
> Also! As far as some of the bad mental health issues go, like anxiety, I’ve used my own experiences so I’m not sure how it goes for everyone else, so just heads up for that!

If Jesse tried hard enough, he felt he could put in such a valiant effort that it would force his heart to stop. It was better than the pain he was dealing with, anyways.

 

Sweat pored from his body; even his athletic gear couldn’t wick it away, because Jesse’s self-inflicted suffering had lasted for more than four hours, and he showed absolutely no signs of stopping. Truthfully, it was just running, something that he had actually once enjoyed, but now he felt like he was breaking his own body as he ran lap after lap, hardly stopping between them for little more than a sip of water, or sometimes to vomit. Normally it was more of the nausea than the thirst.

 

Jesse refused to accept that the keen aching in his bones, felt long before his self-torture, was any sort of illness. Even _if_ it was (which it wasn’t), it was probably just a common cold. It made running all the more agonizing, whatever it was. As he allowed himself to come to a brief stop, Jesse hunched over and leaned against the gymnasium wall; he felt the urge to gag from his overexertion.

 

“How fast was that, Athena?” he asked once he caught his breath. Out of fear for not being able to get back up if he rested, Jesse forced himself to move and grab his water bottle.

 

“Athena?”

 

Despite Jesse calling twice, the AI took her time in responding. That wasn’t normal.

 

“Your physical therapy has helped your recovery,” she said. “I recommend you focus your energy on gaining more muscle mass and increasing your strength.”

 

Jesse couldn’t help himself as he rolled his eyes, forcing down his water as he squinted up at the ceiling. Athena might not have a body, but Jesse was certain she could feel his judging gaze.

 

“That’s not what I asked,” he said. He threw down his empty bottle as he finally, _finally_ , allowed himself a moment of respite. His head and stomach were starting to ache just as much as his bones were. “What’s my time?”

 

“The recorded time for this lap is twelve minutes and forty-eight seconds. Compared to the previous one, your time has increased by nineteen seconds.”

 

“And... my original time?” Jesse asked. He already knew the answer by heart, could even tell someone the milliseconds if they wanted, but he had to ask anyways.

 

“Nine minutes and eleven seconds was your average.”

 

And just like every other time, Jesse cursed himself with such bitterness that it left a physical taste in his mouth. Whatever happened during the explosion, whatever Angela had done to his body to save him, had made him stiffer, slower, almost like his muscles didn’t want to work for him. Like Athena said, physical therapy _had_ helped, but these new limitations felt so... disheartening. Jesse had once been capable of almost keeping up with Genji, and now look where he was. The only good thing that had come out of it, as Athena kindly suggested, was his newfound focus on strength training.

 

Jesse might’ve been slick and wily before his injuries, but he never bulked up too much; he had always tried to emphasize on being able to outrun others, which Gabriel had supported wholeheartedly, if only because it was already one of Jesse’s strong suits (he’d always been running in Deadlock, so why not just go with it, build on it?). Now, though, Jesse wasn’t fast. He couldn’t outrun anybody, especially not Genji, so he devoted his time to strength training instead. He noticed the difference almost immediately; when training with the others, he could force his opponents down with ease, could throw them almost like they were nothing just as long as he could catch them. Now, he was like Gabriel.

 

Gabriel. That man was built like an ox, strong as one, too, but Jesse was getting there. Maybe if he was strong enough...

 

“Hey, Athena,” Jesse called, “What’s Reyes’s muscle mass compared to mine?”

 

Once again, Athena took her time, as if processing too much data at once. Maybe she was, in all honesty. She was really the only person that Jesse talked to anymore, and every time they interacted, he would ask her all sorts of questions, mainly about Blackwatch or Overwatch archives, that she might not have been legally authorized to answer. Still, Athena tried to deliver; according to Jack, the AI seemed to have a soft spot for Jesse (he was, after all, almost the only one who talked to her like a human being, who _really_ treated her with the utmost respect).

 

“I don’t suggest engaging in any physical conflicts with Commander Reyes,” she said. Having that soft spot meant that she was almost comically good at reading into Jesse’s words, digging up his true intentions like nobody else ever could. It was hard to deceive a machine, after all. Still, Jesse found himself sighing as he finally brought himself to rest on a nearby bench.

 

“I’m not gonna _actively_ fight him. I’m just saying, if it came down to-“ Jesse paused, and his body violently shuddered as he coughed and spat out whatever came up. Where was he even going with that sentence? As he buried his face in his hands, Jesse couldn’t help but feel almost desperate. He was too tired to think on why he felt that way. “I just... I don’t know anymore, okay? I don’t even know if I’m thinking straight these days.”

 

“Perhaps you should try talking to a certified professional again.”

 

Jesse laughed, and the tone it carried was malicious at best. After all the shit that had happened with Moira, Bora, and Victor (or, really, with _Gabriel_ ), Angela had begged him to talk to the therapist on hand. Jesse had begrudgingly complied. It became apparent after the first few sessions that Jesse was beyond unwilling to even acknowledge his feelings in his own heart, let alone out in the open. Naturally, that made therapy a living nightmare for everybody involved. He just couldn’t find it within himself to cut away at the scars he had allowed to cover his wounds. He just couldn’t reopen his heart.

 

His heart... Jesse knew it wasn’t what it used to be. He’d made a vow he could never - _would_ never - take back, and most days, he found he didn’t regret that decision. Sharp, frigid tendrils of frost had buried themselves deeply into his chest; they froze out everything that Jesse had once loved, the things that he had fought for and cherished and even worshipped to some extent. At one point, his heart had been warm beyond all reasoning. He knew that much at least. Still, it was hard to ever believe that, now that there was nothing left; well, nothing but an empty, crumbling stone.

 

“You should probably listen to her, you know.”

 

Jesse’s head jerked up fast enough to give him whiplash, but he wound up smiling despite himself. It was Victor.

 

Victor was the only person who had been capable of making Jesse smile ever since he’d left the medical ward, and considering it had been a little over a year since the Somali incident, that was saying a lot. Likewise, while Victor found himself feeling generally happier than his friend, Jesse was the only one that truly made him feel joy. Those emotions, however present they happened to be, were currently smothered under mountains of concern.

 

“It’s three in the morning, Jesse,” Victor said, and the worry in his voice was practically palpable. “You shouldn’t be running laps so late. Actually, you shouldn’t be doing anything but sleeping right now. You look _sick_ , Jesse. Being awake so much isn’t good for you.”

 

Jesse simply shrugged as he lazily started to pack up his gym bag. He already knew it was far beyond unhealthy for him to be pushing himself so hard, that not sleeping in place of vicious training was absolutely horrendous for both his physical and mental health, but he didn’t really care. Unlike his sleep, Jesse found it a little harder to ignore whatever illness he might’ve contracted (again, it was nothing), but honestly, _if_ he had something, he felt he deserved it. Instead of saying that, though, Jesse simply placed his bag onto Victor’s lap with a smile.

 

Truth be told, Jesse almost felt _bad_ for doing any sort of training in front of his friend; thanks to their little incident, Victor had been confined to a wheelchair ever since he’d been cleared to leave the hospital. He said that he had accepted it, that it didn’t bother him anymore, and Jesse believed and supported that wholeheartedly. If his friend was happy, he was happy. He knew, however, that the glances and the pity others gave Victor was actually the problem, not the wheelchair itself. Perhaps that’s another reason why he often chose to find Jesse in crowds; Jesse never really changed his attitude towards his friend (they both despised pity) and he could scowl so viciously that nobody would even dare to _look_ at Victor, let alone comment on him.

 

“I’ll pay you ten bucks if you’ll let me push you down a ramp,” Jesse teased, following beside his friend as they made towards the exit. “Really, I’ll shell out the cash right here and now.”

 

“You’re broke as hell, Jesse. Nice try, though!”

 

Jesse simply grinned as he held open the door for his friend, and proceeded to trail beside him as they made their way into the elevator and back up to Victor’s office in the medical wing. It was a nice space, by all means, but Jesse hated the atmosphere of constant chaos. Not like other Overwatch hellholes were much better. Still, Jesse didn’t complain as he took his bag and shut the door behind him, walking over and flopping straight down onto the small couch in the corner. It was practically his second bed at this point. It was with great pleasure that he stretched his body out and closed his eyes, allowing his weariness to shine through the cracks.

 

“Can I stay here while you do paperwork? My _everything_ feels like shit. Probably just gonna nap it off if that’s alright.”

 

Nothing.

 

Jesse waited a very long time for an answer, and after a good few minutes, he lifted his head back up to look at his friend. The man looked... morose, to put it lightly. His face was grim, somber, as he fiddled with some of the papers on his desk. He looked too close to crying.

 

“Victor?” Jesse asked, and he scrambled upwards (too fast, his stomach screamed, _too fast_ ) in a panic as he made his way over to his friend. It wasn’t like Victor to cry. As carefully as he could, Jesse knelt down in front of the man, placing his hands on the wheelchair’s armrests. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

 

Surprisingly, Victor _laughed_. It was tear-filled and bittersweet, but it was a laugh nonetheless. It was with stable hands that he held out a piece of paper to Jesse, who took it without a second thought and glanced over the contents. There wasn’t much on it, to be honest; there was an address, a phone number, and that seemed to be it. Other than that, the page was blank. Why would Victor give him that of all things? For a few moments, Jesse stared at the paper, turned it over to the blank back, and then flipped it back over again, as if hoping to gain some understanding. It was only when he took a moment to truly think that the realization hit him.

 

“You’re leaving?”

 

Victor’s airy laugh confirmed Jesse’s suspicions. With ever-tender motions, the man took Jesse’s stunned face into his hands, soothing away the worry lines as his thumbs traced over them. He smiled down gently, just as he always did.

 

“I’m not happy here, Jesse. Not anymore,” he started, “I’m used to being out in the field, running around with you and the others, but now...”

 

“Now you’re just stuck. You’re miserable.”

 

Victor’s smile never faltered, even as a few tears danced on the very edges of his lashes, threatening to drop with the slightest breath. He didn’t bother to move his hands away from Jesse, either. It almost seemed like he was afraid to let go.

 

“I’m going to live with my sister-in-law, out in Wyoming,” he said, “She’s been alone ever since my brother passed, and she’s the only family I have left. It’ll do us both good to have some company.”

 

Jesse felt his face contort as if he might cry, but his eyes felt dry, and nothing came out even as he laid his head down in Victor’s lap. Despite his turmoil, Jesse felt his body relax as gentle fingers massaged at his scalp (he’d found out very quickly that the simple action could soothe his pain), and it felt even better when his hair was affectionately petted. He’d let it grow back longer, and now he was starting to grow a beard as well; it seemed even he was changing despite his best wishes.

 

“You could come with me, Jesse.”

 

And _that_ would be a massive change. If Jesse weren’t so close to Victor, he might’ve thought that it was merely a breath of wind, a simply illusion, but no. Victor had spoken. When Jesse looked up, the man had his eyes closed; he looked as if he were asleep, merely dreaming, and Jesse wished more than anything that he could join him.

 

“You know I can’t,” Jesse said. He couldn’t ignore the hint of hopelessness, of _desperation_ , that bled into his words. “I- I can’t leave. Not now. Probably not ever, if I’m honest.”

 

“You deserve to rest,” Victor sighed, “And if you ever do, then at least you’ll know where to find me. You’re my brother, Jesse. You’ll always be welcome in my home.”

 

Jesse paused as he stood back up (he _needed_ to stand, because if he didn’t, he might actually agree to go). He looked at the paper in his hands, then back up to the man who had given it to him, before giving one last desperate smile.

 

“Fighting and killing, killing and fighting. Whichever way you put it, that’s all I’ve ever known. You know that just as well as I do. The sick thing about all this is that I don’t think I’d ever be able to live _without_ that shit. What’ll happen if I actually walk away?”

 

Jesse felt his heart writhing in his chest like a headless snake, its death throes making him increasingly physically ill as he tried to breathe. It felt nearly impossible to even stand.

 

“Without those things, I’m just... nothing.” He paused, taking in a shuttering breath that sounded like an empty perversion of humor. “It takes a bad man to be brought to his knees by something as simple as peace.”

 

“You’re everything that you say you’re not, and we all know that. You’re a _good_ _man_ , Jesse.”

 

For the first time in a very, very long time, Jesse felt the urge to laugh (a true, honest to God _laugh_ ) rise up in his chest. It was nauseating. As soon as it tried to come to a head, he stomped it straight back down into the ground, and he didn’t dare think twice about it as he said his farewell and made his way out the door.

 

 

———

 

 

Jesse wasn’t very sure just what he was doing, where he was going, but he was stunned nonetheless when he found himself at a familiar, heavy door. Despite his best efforts, his lungs felt too empty and his body too weak to run away.

 

Gabriel.

 

The door to Gabriel’s office was mocking him, he was sure. The dark metal glinted like a razor blade, and the smooth, pristine features gave away none of the gruesome secrets contained within. Well, perhaps not all of those secrets were that way; wrong, yes, but gruesome? No.

 

Gabriel... Gabriel had never considered Jesse to be an abhorrent thing, something to throw under the rug and hide away. They couldn’t be forthright, but they certainly loved one another. They had never cast one another aside.

 

Jesse wished, if only for a moment, that there had only ever been bad memories with Gabriel.

 

If Jesse felt regret, he couldn’t decide as to whether it was caused by the frigid distance or the tender past. Maybe it was both. Whatever it was, he decidedly ignored it in favor of looking down at the biometric lock. Unless Gabriel had changed it, Jesse’s prints were still in there. Well, he could just try to _knock_ if he wanted in, but it was currently four in the fucking morning, so even if Gabriel was awake (which he probably was), the likelihood of him answering the door basically dropped to zero. That left Jesse with trying to use the lock. He paused as he brought his hand to hover just above the scanner, and he paled as he felt his stomach drop. Why was he so anxious all of a sudden? Before he could answer his own question, Jesse pressed his hand to the pad and waited.

 

And waited.

 

And waited.

 

Maybe the eternity it took was created in his own mind, but it took him even longer to realize that the lock was flashing a derisive green.

 

Gabriel had kept it unlocked for him.

 

Jesse wasn’t sure what he was feeling anymore (just that it was something awful, something that made him ill), and so he stared blankly at his receding palm. What was he even doing? What was he doing _here_ , more importantly? What would Gabriel say to Jesse after all this time? Would Gabriel hate him? Curse him? Discharge him? What if he did? What if he killed Jesse instead? What if what if _what if-_

 

The blood rushed through his ears like a deafening wave, and his body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. His stomach lurched violently enough to make him gag, and before Jesse could truly register what he was doing, he pushed through the doors and stumbled inside. He hardly heard the door close behind him. He couldn’t even make out what Gabriel was saying (was he even saying anything? Or was it Jesse’s imagination?), and hastily hobbled over to the chair in front of Gabriel’s desk, leaning against the back after finding he didn’t have the strength to sit down.

 

Jesse could feel the slick sheen of sweat reforming on his body; his athletic gear was already damp and cold, which only added to the self-torture. Dread pooled up in his stomach as he stared to where he thought Gabriel oughta be standing, and while everything felt horribly sharp and dull all at once, he found worried eyes staring right back at him. Of course, Jesse faltered.

 

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

 

If Jesse weren’t busy trying to hold in whatever water he‘d drank from running, he would’ve laughed at himself for his horrid lack of finesse. Now was not the time, though. Jesse could feel Gabriel sitting him down swiftly, and a wastebasket was placed in his lap just as he felt himself wretch. Strong hands raked through his hair and pulled it back out of his face; for that, and all other things, Jesse was thankful.

 

For as long as Jesse continued to vomit (it was nothing more than water, mucus, and bile), Gabriel held his hair back, and stood patiently even after the wretching stopped. Jesse didn’t mind; his body was shaking, his throat and nostrils aching from the acrid burn. He enjoyed the absence of hair which kept his neck cool. He almost groaned when he felt Gabriel let it fall back down, but after a few seconds, it was pulled back up again, and a cold bottle of water was pressed against his feverish skin. Whatever pleased noise that pried its way out of his throat was painfully obvious.

 

“All good now?” Gabriel asked. In a much quieter voice, he added, “Please tell me you’ve not been drinking that much.”

 

Jesse could almost feel the concern increase as he snorted (which hurt like a bitch), the bucket carefully placed on the floor as he leaned back fully into the cold bottle. He would worry about his pride later.

 

“Just ran too much, body didn’t like it.” He didn’t want to say his anxiety probably played a part, too, or that his sickness was getting the best of him. Gabriel, not knowing these things, huffed an airy laugh at the answer; the sound was too affectionate and tender for Jesse’s liking.

 

In the very back of his skull, Jesse heard a desperate voice, an urgent insistence that he should leave, that he couldn’t - shouldn’t - linger too long. He’d been avoiding this place for a reason, hadn’t he? For over a year, the only time Jesse ever visited Gabriel’s office was to turn in reports or briefly go over strategies and tactics for upcoming missions. Other than that, he had avoided it like the plague.

 

“I... I think I should-“

 

Another wave of nausea wracked Jesse’s body, and before he could even get the words out, he doubled over in his chair and held his head over the wastebasket at his feet. Gabriel, ever the saint it seemed, just moved to the side of the chair and continued holding the bottle and Jesse’s hair.

 

For a very long time, Jesse clutched his aching stomach, and Gabriel stood by him. Neither spoke, but Jesse could hear Gabriel, breathing as even as the ticking of a clock; he could make out the soft tune of a long-forgotten song whose words had all but vanished, only leaving an empty melody behind. Jesse knew it rather well, but how could he not? It was Gabriel that had taught it to him many years ago, soothing him when he screamed and cried, when he fought and bled. It was laughable to call it a lullaby, but Jesse supposed that’s what it might’ve been.

 

“I’m... I’m real sick. Have been for a while,” he finally, begrudgingly confessed. He cringed at his own voice, at how raspy it had become. Gabriel didn’t really seem to mind, though. Instead, he silenced his song (Jesse tried to convince himself that he wasn’t disappointed) and carefully hauled Jesse up by the arm, making sure to grab the wastebasket as he dragged Jesse to the door.

 

For what it was worth, Jesse didn’t stop him. His body felt like it had been smashed by a sledgehammer, and the fight had left him ever since he had stood outside Gabriel’s door. Wasn’t that why he was there in the first place?

 

Jesse wasn’t very sure where they were going, but his skin was turning clammier  by the minute (if that was even possible). He felt an overwhelming surge of relief when they stopped. It only lasted for a few seconds, but after he was forced to move a little bit more, he was graciously sat down and pushed onto his back. Some distant memory recognized the scent in the air, the sheets beneath his sweaty palms, the constant sound of a ceiling fan; he was in Gabriel’s room. Although Jesse wanted to panic, he really couldn’t find the strength to. He just wanted to rest.

 

Off in the distance, Gabriel was moving about swiftly; he disappeared into the bathroom before coming back out a minute later, a damp cloth and a small box in tow as he sat by Jesse’s head. The cold, wet cloth felt like heaven on Jesse’s burning skin, so much so that he nearly wept from the relief. A few seconds later, Jesse heard the box pop open. He knew from experience that it was a first aid kit.

 

“Open your mouth,” Gabriel commanded, but he was met only with a rough grunt. Of course he was (Jesse was nothing if not a stubborn bastard). Not even a second later, though, Jesse felt gentle hands press firmly against his jaw, a familiar command associated with unpleasant memories. He almost felt the urge to rear his head. The last time that had happened, back when he had blindly trusted Gabriel, Jesse ended up drugged, drunk, and angry as fuck. Now, though, he didn’t have to listen to a single word. Now he could actually choose to say no.

 

Why was it, then, that he didn’t want to?

 

Jesse felt that infernal, pestering voice screaming in the back of his skull, telling him he was weak, pathetic, nothing more than a whorish pup trying to follow his owner’s commands. It tried every which way to force Jesse not to open his jaws, but ultimately, it failed. Of course it did. With one more insistent squeeze, Jesse allowed his mouth to open, and obediently shut it when he felt a thermometer placed under his tongue.

 

He felt his resolve being chipped away even more as Gabriel softly crooned praises, fingers rubbing at his scalp like he knew Jesse enjoyed. An entire year’s worth of bitter hatred was crumbling under a whopping minute of tenderness. Jesse really _did_ feel weak about that. It was almost laughable at how starved for affection he was, at how urgently he pressed his head further into Gabriel’s hand, how desperately his face buried itself against Gabriel’s thigh like he might die if he did otherwise.

 

Gabriel was just as stunned as Jesse at the turn of events, if not more. That was pretty understandable. Jesse had outright ignored him for so long that Gabriel probably thought he hated him. He did, for a while. Jesse had resented him so terribly that he never allowed Gabriel to speak his piece on the Somali mission, and by the time Jesse had cooled off enough to control his physical aggression, it was too late to bring it up without the risk of causing the wrath to come back with a vengeance. It was probably almost overwhelming for him to have to take care of Jesse now. Still, it was with gentle hands that Gabriel removed the thermometer and carefully sat it aside after reading it.

 

“You’re sick, alright,” Gabriel muttered, mainly to himself, “You’d have to be.”

 

“What was it?” Jesse asked. If it was hard to make sense of him due to his rasping and his face being hidden in Gabriel’s thigh, the other man didn’t complain.

 

“Higher grade fever, 101.4 to be exact.”

 

Jesse grumbled at the number and simply pressed himself closer as Gabriel wiped the sweat from his skin. The cloth was losing its chill quickly. With a quiet sigh, Gabriel took the rag and rose from the bed, repeating the process of wetting it with cold water and placing it on Jesse’s forehead. This time, he brought a dry cloth as well. Its soft fabric soothed Jesse’s splotchy, sensitive skin as the sweat was finally wicked away, leaving him feeling less ill and nasty. Still, even if his body was momentarily pacified, Jesse’s mind was going a mile a minute. He really hated himself sometimes.

 

“Wanna know something?” he asked. He felt Gabriel’s leg tense beneath his face, but the curious nature was ever-present.

 

“Whatever you want, Jesse. I’m here for you.”

 

Jesse would’ve rolled his eyes if that fact wasn’t so hard to disprove. He had more important things to do than to pick fights, though, and so he simply let his arm lay across Gabriel’s legs, looking up as he did so.

 

“Deadlock used to kill people if they were sick,” he said, his voice painfully causal for such a twisted conversation, “They didn’t want anything to spread, didn’t wanna waste expensive medicine if it did, so they’d take people out into the desert and shoot them like a lame horse.”

 

Even from so far below him, Jesse could hear the way Gabriel’s breath hitched, and despite himself, Jesse _laughed_. The situation was far from funny, but he couldn’t help his morbid fascination with the inner workings of his old gang. He found it humorous that he didn’t even realize that their behavior wasn’t normal until he was taken away from it. That didn’t mean Jesse really understood Gabriel’s world any better than his own, though. Maybe he just understood their shared violence the best.

 

“You know, Reyes...” What a foreign name that was to his lips. It was almost distressing at how some part of him hated the formality, and Jesse supposed he would let that part win for the night. He had more important things to talk about than politeness. “Sometimes I wish you would’ve just left me out there. Sometimes I just- I really wish you would’ve let Deadlock find me.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

Gabriel’s voice was almost as quiet as Jesse’s, but it was a million times more hesitant, more careful. He was _afraid_. With cautious movements, Gabriel disentangled himself to once again re-wet Jesse’s cloth, and Jesse almost laughed a second time when it was colder than ever before. The other man probably thought he was succumbing to feverish delirium. He felt delirious enough; his eyes, for the first time in a very long time, started to blur from pinpricks of tears. There was no way Gabriel didn’t notice that. Instead of sitting by Jesse’s head, he knelt down in front of the bed, and he stared so earnestly into Jesse’s eyes that it made him want to look away. It felt far too intimate for his liking.

 

“If they wouldn’t have killed me outright, I would’ve died anyways. I _wanted_ that at one point.” The confession, petty as it felt to Jesse, burned like a razor tearing into his tongue, and he wanted nothing more than for it to finally be cut out. If his tongue was gone, he wouldn’t have to say the more weighted, wretched truth that he’d been running from nearly all his life.

 

“Gabriel, I... I _still_ want that. Sometimes I almost act on it, and I just- I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t think I can anymore.”

 

Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, a suicidal urge was Jesse’s friend, something that caused him to disregard his own life and give it away freely to others, even if they didn’t want it. His devotion to Blackwatch - to Gabriel - was formed on this. Still, that didn’t mean he enjoyed the sickness; he hated the cracks formed in the very foundation of his being, he _despised_ how adrenaline would flood his system, just to give him enough strength to do serious harm if he really wanted to. His own body was working against itself in ways it honestly shouldn’t.

 

Jesse realized, perhaps too late, that his ardent struggle for self-preservation had been nothing more than prolonging his life until he could be _useful_. If others could use him (and hadn’t they used him? Isn’t that what he was made for?), then maybe his life would finally have purpose. Maybe it would finally make sense. All Jesse wanted, now more than ever, was purpose, sense, maybe a little peace; how he thought about achieving that was gruesome enough to make his stomach twist in fear.

 

“It never goes away, does it?” The venom that laced each word was a horrid perversion of his normally honey-hued voice, created as if Jesse truly hoped it would sink back into his own skin and kill him, “l wish you would’ve let me bleed out, let the buzzards eat me, let some rabid dog chew me to death! Why didn’t you just let me fucking _die_?”

 

An ungodly, desperate wrath burst to life as the morbid sin was finally out in the open, was finally freed from the darkness of Jesse’s heart. It was the first and only time he had ever confessed to those damning thoughts. It left him feeling a wretched mess. It wasn’t until a calloused thumb touched his face, wiping away his tears, that he realized he was crying.

 

With no defenses left, Jesse violently, painfully shattered.

 

He was broken, defiled, damaged far beyond repair. This was a sickness just as much as his physical one was, and as such, it was a weakness. If he didn’t cover it, what would happen? If he let it show, how many people would lose their faith in him? How many of his friends would view him as something no longer strong, something pathetic and utterly weak?

 

These feelings were monstrous sins that Jesse had tried so desperately to purge himself of. Every time they would come up, he would try to gouge it out of his filthy body, to force it from his own blood like it was some curable disease. Every new attempt left him dangerously bloodier than the last. Despite all of his pain, his suffering, it wasn’t really something that could be cured, was it? If it was, the scars that lingered would certainly never go away. No, people with their horrid ‘sympathy’ would always be there to remind Jesse of who he was, what he’d done, and how he couldn’t even save himself from darkness.

 

Somehow, though, when Jesse felt Gabriel pull him from the bed, when he felt Gabriel take him tightly into his arms, a certain lightness washed over him, something wholly different and contradictory to his despair. It took him a very, very long time to realize what exactly was keeping him from drowning in his own mind.

 

It was... _love_.

 

The warmth and utter benevolence that Gabriel held for Jesse reflected in every action, every gentle stroke of a hand, every quiet whisper of tender concern. It soothed the aching in his heart in ways nobody else ever could. The frost that had once lingered was suddenly forced to thaw, and Jesse found that he didn’t mind a bit, not anymore. In Gabriel’s arms, he felt he had been horribly, irredeemably _wrong_ about judging the man’s previous motives. What had happened before, what caused Jesse to abandon him in the first place...

 

_Sometimes... sometimes people make sacrifices for the ones that they love._

 

That’s what Gabriel had told him then, and Jesse had refused to think about it during or after his violent outburst. But now, he found himself blindly and wholeheartedly believing that whatever Gabriel had done that day, whatever the motives behind his actions had been, were for Jesse’s benefit. For whatever reason, Gabriel had done it for him.

 

Overwhelmed with the emotions he had shoved down for so long, Jesse wailed like a child. Gabriel only held him closer.

 

“I’m sorry!” he cried, and his throat was so raw that he sounded almost mutilated, “Gabe, I just- I’m so-“

 

Any words that tried to struggle out of his throat were stifled, but Gabriel paid it no mind. Instead, he rocked them both back and forth. Jesse couldn’t even find it in himself to laugh at how he felt like such a child, at how Gabriel knew exactly what to do and when to do it. Because of course he did. Gabriel loved him, even if Jesse always had been, always would be, an abhorrent creature of tragedy.

 

——

 

It wasn’t until much later that Jesse had finally cried himself out. The world outside of the window was grey, no longer darkened by the black veil of night but not yet warmed by sunlight. They had been there for a very long time. Jesse almost felt bad for Gabriel, who no doubt had work to do (all things considered, he’d probably have more since Jesse had interrupted him). Still, the man never faltered in his affection, he never pushed Jesse away. He seemed wholly content on staying exactly where he was, as long as Jesse would be okay. Right now, after his catharsis, he was.

 

“At least I didn’t throw up on you.”

 

Though his head was tucked under Gabriel’s chin, Jesse could hear how the man snorted as fingers soothingly rubbed at his scalp.

 

“Yes, we should be thankful for that,” Gabriel said, “Although you’re still burning up. You really need to visit Angela.”

 

“Not that I don’t love the good doctor, but no.”

 

“But-“

 

“ _No_.”

 

Jesse had never been particularly keen on visiting the ward to begin with, but after having spent so much time there for recovery, then physical therapy, he hated it even more. He almost didn’t go down there when he was bleeding to death after an incident with Genji (God bless the poor boy, who’d been struggling with calibrations and accidentally misjudged his strength and accuracy). No, Jesse much more preferred to die slowly in his room, however dramatic that might seem. Gabriel, of course, was used to his stubbornness, even after having been separated for such a long time. With all the care in the world, he hoisted the both of them up and started walking Jesse towards the bathroom.

 

“If you’re staying here, you need to shower,” he said, and turned on the light as he sat Jesse on his vanity stool, shutting the door behind them. It was with gentle, almost reluctant hands, that he moved to pull the tight athletic gear from Jesse’s body. “Like I said before, you’ve got a fever and you’re covered in sweat. You’ll feel better after this, trust me.”

 

Jesse only breathed a quiet laugh at Gabriel’s fretting; despite the pain and the distance, he honestly and truly _missed_ Gabriel fussing over his health, making sure to do what was best for him (and Gabriel _always_ did what was best for him, didn’t he?). It was good to have someone who cared like Gabriel did, simply because nobody else ever could. Well, there was technically one other person who did; the evidence of that care littered Jesse’s skin in the shape of fingerprints and bruises, of bite marks and scratches. Jesse almost couldn’t control the way he nearly curled in on himself when he felt Gabriel staring at those wounds. He just prayed he didn’t know it was Jack who had left them.

 

Yes, Jack was soft, tender, everything that Jesse had needed after he finally escaped Angela’s firm grip. It was with open arms that he was welcomed. There were no questions asked, no need for an explanation when Jesse would come to him, lead him to the bed, only to be lost between the sheets with weighted words muffled by pillows. That’s where Jesse preferred they keep their ‘relationship’.

 

Perhaps, for Jack, love had been an option that he merely kept hidden (although barely) for Jesse’s sake, but Jesse himself was painfully aware of what Jack didn’t know; he knew that in his own heart, there would be no room for anyone outside of himself. Hell, Jesse didn’t even love himself most days. If he couldn’t even do that much, then how on earth could he ever hope to care so earnestly for others?

 

Gabriel seemed to love Jesse more than anything in the world, though; he loved Jesse more than Jesse could _ever_ love himself. Gabriel didn’t call him whorish for his actions or point the wounds out. Instead, he only rubbed at the bruise on Jesse’s collarbone with a visible twinge of regret. Gabriel didn’t blame him. No, he only blamed himself. Against his better judgement, Jesse found himself bringing his hand up to Gabriel’s, pressing it closer to his own skin.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and he truly meant what he said. If he’d known that he would come back to Gabriel, maybe he wouldn’t have indulged Jack like he had. He felt guilty enough for doing so to begin with.Jesse didn’t want to think about that, though. Pushing those things from his mind, he slowly, carefully, brought Gabriel’s hand to his lips, and he prayed that the kiss he laid upon the man’s palm would express all of the remorse he truly felt.

 

Although Gabriel hadn’t pulled away, Jesse closed his eyes. Perhaps he was only slightly afraid of whatever it might be that Gabriel thought of him, but it was fear nonetheless, and so he didn’t want to see the man’s face. Instead, he moved his lips to the inside of Gabriel’s wrist without stopping. It was a steady rhythm; Jesse brought him closer, trapping Gabriel between his legs while subservient kisses littered the man’s skin. Every inch of Gabriel was worshipped like a god (because wasn’t he one? Wasn’t Gabriel a god?), and Jesse couldn’t help but mutter apologies like feverent prayers until his own lips quivered. It wasn’t until he finally let himself travel lower that he felt harsh hands gripping his hair.

 

Why was he stopped? Had he done something wrong? Jesse was doing what he had once done; he knew this dance very well, so he wasn’t very likely to misstep. Did Gabriel not want him anymore? That... that would make more sense. What if Gabriel was only doing this out of pity? What if he just wanted Jesse gone? What if-

 

“Relax, Jesse, you’re alright,” Gabriel said. His hand, disentangled from Jesse’s hair, found itself resting gently on Jesse’s neck, the other sitting on his shoulder. The only reason he opened his eyes was because he could hear the tired laughter in Gabriel’s voice, no matter how much he tried to cover it up. 

 

Although the tone was stifled, the amount of amusement on the man’s weary face was blatant. It was enough to make Jesse’s face flush as he ducked his head and groaned. Once again, he shut his eyes.

 

“I’m just thinking, is all,” he muttered, “Just trying to-“

 

“You’re trying to prove a point, Jesse. You don’t need to push yourself to do that.”

 

”But-“

 

”Do you trust me?” Gabriel asked, and the swiftness in which Jesse nodded his head was enough to hurt his neck. “I love you. You know I only want what’s best for you. Don’t you, Jesse?”

 

“Of course, Gabe.”

 

“Good. That’s... that’s good.”

 

The sudden exhaustion, the horrid _guilt_ , in Gabriel’s voice was enough to make Jesse’s body tense, even if Gabriel forced it to be stifled by laughter. It sounded like he was trying to keep Jesse from worrying. Not like that would happen; no, Jesse was fully capable of thinking himself into the ground. That would probably take more years off of his life than smoking ever could. Gabriel knew that very well. He knew that if he allowed Jesse to ponder things too long, no good would ever come out of it (and neither of them wanted a repeat of the mental breakdown).

 

It was some twisted form of pleasure that overtook Jesse when he felt Gabriel kneel down, hands carefully intertwining with his own. It flourished in his chest when familiar chapped lips danced over his wounds, grounding him firmly to the present. It was almost overwhelming as the soft words of praise came gently from Gabriel’s mouth, and Jesse knew then and there that he was an utter fool for ever leaving Gabriel behind.

 

As he let himself succumb to the ecstasy of worship, of roaming hands on feverish skin, Jesse couldn’t help but let his own breath die in his throat under equally feverish actions. He was absolutely consumed by the knowledge that, once again, Gabriel would take care of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jesse bb no don’t do that plz
> 
> ALSO HOW TF DID I GO FROM “awww look at my babies playing in the snow” TO THIS KINDA SHIT????
> 
> Feel free to talk to me, I really enjoy hearing from you guys! XD


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